


out of the woods

by queervengers (nonsexualandsilly)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Casual Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mutual respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsexualandsilly/pseuds/queervengers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It figures that the one person to catch his notice in Boston would be Jack Zimmermann’s fucking boyfriend.</p>
<p>“So, uh,” Kent stutters, all of his charm wiped away by this bullshit turn of events. “You probably think I’m the world’s biggest asshole, don’t you.”</p>
<p>Bitty takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. “You’re up there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of the woods

**Author's Note:**

> BP HELL IS REAL AND I AM DROWNING IN IT
> 
> twitter is full of enablers, who, when i say "hey it's four AM but i'm thinking abt bitty losing his virginity to parse" don't say "shut the fuck up and go to bed," but rather ENCOURAGE me
> 
> biggest enablers/supporters of all on this one are @prun3girl (who probably deserves credit for all the best dialogue here) and @pinktrashtime (who is human sunshine)

Kent’s nursing his fourth beer of the night when he sees the guy - small and blond, his face vaguely familiar even though Kent can’t quite place it. Not that it matters if they’ve met before - what matters is that the dude is hot as hell, and Kent’s just buzzed enough to consider heading over and hitting on him. He makes eye contact across the room, and he hasn’t even managed to wink at the guy before he’s - slowly sliding under the booth. Which - Kent’s a damn good looking guy, he knows that, so there is no reason for anyone’s response to seeing him to be _sliding under a table_. Unless Kent _knows_ him from somewhere, but the guy doesn’t _look_ like a stripper, and Kent’s pretty sure he's never fucked the guy (not like anyone would want to avoid him after that).

And look, Kent hasn’t made a name for himself as one of the NHL’s top players by being the type of person who backs down from a challenge. So he puts on his most dazzling smile, saunters over and moves the cup of beer currently obscuring the guys face and leans a hip against the table.

“Hey there,” he says, grinning down at the guy, who has sunk so far down in his seat that only the upper half of his face is visible. “Now, normally I don’t get guys under the table until at least the second date, but for you I just might make an exception.”

“What?” the guy squeaks out, barely audible with his mouth still under the table.

The girl next to him takes a sip from her drink, eyeing Kent critically. “He’s making a blowjob joke, Bitty,” she tells him.

The guy - Bitty - goes red, then slowly slides back into his seat, and now Kent can see his Samwell Hockey t-shirt, which answers the question of why he looks familiar, though not why he’s avoiding Kent - Kent charmed the _shit_ out of Samwell.

“Yes, I know, Larissa. Thank you,” Bitty says, still red to the tips of his ears.

“So,” Kent says, “why exactly _were_ you under there?”

“I was.” Bitty pauses. “I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t want to disturb any of y’all on my way!”

Kent has known the kid for all of three minutes and even he can tell thats a lie.  Larissa raises her eyebrows, obviously not buying it either. “Right,” she says. “Well, we’re going to go get more drinks, and you can go to the bathroom while we’re gone, how’s that?” She stands up and ruffles Bitty’s hair before heading to the bar, the rest of the group following, leaving Kent and Bitty alone at the table.

Kent slides in next to Bitty, sprawling out so he’s touching Bitty, who shies away. Kent doesn’t push it - he’s not that much of a dick, but he does turn so he’s facing Bitty. “So, what exactly did I do to make you want to hide?”

Bitty sets his mouth in a determined line. “Well, _Kenny_ \- ”

“Fuck,” Kent breathes, remembering the kid in the hall after his fight with Jack - small and blond and not worth Kent’s notice at the time. And now that he’s remembering that, yeah, that was Bitty. The same Bitty who had been taking fucking _selfies_ with Jack before Kent showed up, Jack angled in towards him, just like how he’d once crowded himself in towards Kent.

It figures that the one person to catch his notice in Boston would be Jack Zimmermann’s fucking _boyfriend_.

“So, uh,” Kent stutters, all of his charm wiped away by this _bullshit_ turn of events. “You probably think I’m the world’s biggest asshole, don’t you.”

Bitty takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. “You’re up there.”

Kent runs a hand through his hair, smoothing his cowlick down. “I probably deserve that.” Bitty raises his eyebrows in what looks like confirmation and takes another quiet sip of his beer. Okay, so Kent is supposed to keep talking. “To be fair, I.” He stops himself - he doesn’t get to make excuses, not when he _knows_ how fucked up the shit he said that night was. He doesn’t have the right to tell Bitty about the years of mutual hurt between Kent and Jack - it’s not his story to tell, and it doesn’t make what he said to Jack any less awful. “Yeah, okay, I absolutely deserve that,” he finally says. “Jack and I - we weren’t good. I was no good for him, and I said shit I shouldn’t have, and I’m sure you make him happier than I ever did.” He shrugs. “I wish I could redo that night, but that’s not how life works, and I can’t take it back, and it’s not like we would be okay now if I hadn’t shown up then. So.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry you had to overhear any of it. I’m sorrier I said it at all. And if I’d realized I recognized you because you’re Jack’s...whatever you are, I wouldn’t have come over here at all. I’m sorry.”

Bitty nods, but doesn’t say anything for a moment, just letting Kent’s apology hang in the air between them. Kent’s considering breaking the silence, apologizing again and walking away, but Bitty speaks up then. “I’m not, you know.”

“Not…?”

“Jack’s.”

Kent scoffs. “Bullshit. I saw you two, it -”

“We tried.” Bitty scratches the back of his neck. “It...we weren’t...it just didn’t really work.”

Kent’s surprised - Jack had seemed good around Bitty, not cold and sharp and too intense in all the ways Kent had seen him, but he doesn’t know Jack anymore, and he doesn’t exactly know Bitty either, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to pry. He just nods, not sure what to say.

“Look,” Bitty says after a pause. “I’m sorry I tried to hide under the table because I thought you were the scum of the earth.”

“Wow, Bitty, tell us how you really feel.” Kent steals a sip of Bitty’s drink, then almost spits it out because it tastes like shit. “Jesus, what is that?”

“Natty Light?” Bitty says.

Kent makes a face. “What the _fuck_ , who drinks Natty by _choice_?” And then Bitty’s laughing, and Kent can’t help but laugh too, and Kent feels the tension ease.

“I’m sorry we can’t all have your discerning palate, Mr. Parson.” Bitty rubs at his forehead, then bites his lip before taking a breath. “Could we maybe start over? No hiding under tables, no past judgment, just two guys in a bar with a clean slate?”

Kent grins and knocks his knee against Bitty’s under the table. Bitty doesn’t move away this time. “Hey there,” Kent says, holding out a hand to shake. Bitty takes it. “I’m Kent.”

“Eric,” Bitty says.

“Eric,” Kent repeats, smiling. “Buy you a drink?”

“I _have_ a drink,” Bitty - Eric - says, holding up his cup. His accent’s more pronounced now, words all drawn-out and honey sweet. Kent could listen to him talk all night.

“Natty Light is not a real drink.”

“How dare you insult a man’s beer of choice?” Eric teases. Kent just rolls his eyes.

“Your beer of choice is witch piss.”

Eric makes a face. “Witch piss?” he repeats.

“Witch piss.”

“We are just gonna have to agree to disagree on this one, Kent.”

Kent leans back in the booth and rests an arm behind Eric, not quite touching him until Eric leans back into it. “So,” Kent says, “what are you studying?”

“American studies, with a focus on food culture. You?” Eric goes to take a sip of his beer, then freezes. “Not...you’re not a student, I just. Hockey. You play hockey.”

“An astute observation.” Kent smirks at Eric, who’s bright red.

“Y’all did real well against the Bruins today, though,” Eric says.

“Damn right we did.”

“The second time you scored was just _beautiful.”_

Kent smiles, then runs his hand along Eric’s jaw. “I’m thinking the third time I score today is going to be even better, though,” he says.

Eric’s jaw drops at that. “You did not just say that. That was -”

“Incredibly smooth?” Kent offers.

“The worst damn pick-up line I’ve heard in my _life,_ ” Eric manages before bursting into laughter.

Kent’s chest goes a little tight at the way Eric’s whole face lights up when he laughs. “You wish you had this much game,” he mutters.

“Excuse you,” Eric says, “I have plenty of game.” Kent just raises an eyebrow. “I got you over here, didn’t I?”

“Being hot and having game are two totally separate things,” Kent protests.

Eric puts a hand on Kent’s thigh and leans in close, so close that Kent thinks Eric might actually kiss him. “Whatever you say, Kent,” Eric says, his breath ghosting over Kent’s lips.

And then Eric leans back and takes another sip of his fucking Natty Light, his hand still on Kent’s thigh.

And, look, Kent’s never had to work to get someone in bed - either someone’s into him or they aren’t worth the effort, and he’s damn near positive Eric’s in the former category. So he trails a hand down Eric’s arm, admiring the goosebumps that pop up in its wake, and says, “Look, do you want to get out of here?”

Eric raises his eyebrows. “At least let me finish my witch piss first.”

“So you admit it tastes like witch piss!”

Eric smiles and shakes his head. “Maybe a little bit, but it doesn’t get me any less drunk.”

Kent bumps their shoulders together. “I’m sorry, do you _want_ to be drunk for this?” he teases.

“Well, my original plan for the evening _did_ involve getting very drunk and dancing to Beyoncé, but _someone_ interrupted me halfway through my first drink.”

“Horrible. Your whole night is ruined,” Kent deadpans. Eric grins at him, then finishes his drink in one go.

“You said somethin’ about getting out of here?”

“I did.”

“Well then, what are you waitin’ for?” Eric shoves Kent out of the booth gently, then takes his hand and leads him toward the exit.

“Pushy,” Kent comments.

“What can I say? I’m _very_ curious about what kind of hotel rooms y’all NHL folk get.”

“I see how it is. Using me for my fancy hotel room.”

“Well,” Eric says, pulling Kent through the door, “what else would I use you for?”

Kent just winks at him and flags down a cab. He opens the door and Eric slides in, Kent settling in the seat next to him. Kent’s barely told the driver where they’re going when Eric is _on him_ , straddling Kent’s lap and kissing him, hot and open-mouthed and desperate.

Kent gets his hands on Eric’s waist, holds him there while Kent licks up into his mouth until Eric stops tasting like Natty Light, until Eric’s grinding down on Kent’s lap and working the top buttons of Kent’s shirt open, until Kent’s so fucking hard he can barely think.

“Kent,” Eric chokes out. Kent makes a sound of encouragement, then kisses Eric again, sliding his hands down until he’s got a grip on Eric’s ass, which gets him another whisper of his name against his lips before Eric pushes him away. “Hold on,” he says, breathless, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps out a message with the hand that isn’t gripping Kent’s collar. “Just figured I oughtta tell Lardo where I disappeared to.” He wraps up, then tosses his phone onto the seat next to them. “Now, where were we?”

Kent doesn’t answer, just pulls Eric back down to him and picks up where they left off, kissing hot and dirty. Eric gets his hands tangled in Kent’s hair, his grip bordering on painful, but it’s not like Kent can’t take it - hell, he likes it a little rough sometimes.

He’s wondering if he could get away with just popping Eric’s jeans open and jerking him off in the back of this cab when they _finally_ make it to the hotel. Kent pulls his wallet out and passes a stack of bills to the driver without counting - it’s probably way too much, but he’s in the fucking NHL, he can afford it. He’s not going to take the time to count out exact change when he could be getting Eric naked up in his room.

Eric climbs off of Kent’s lap, and Kent gets a hand on the small of his back, guides him through the lobby until they get in an elevator alone, and Kent hits the button for his floor and then pushes Eric up against one of the mirrored walls of the elevator, presses him there and kisses him, tilting his chin up with two fingers and biting at his lower lip until Eric’s gasping up into Kent’s mouth, hands slipping up under Kent’s shirt.

As soon as the elevator dings and the doors open, Kent grabs Eric’s hand and pulls him down the hall to Kent’s room. He fumbles with the key card, distracted by Eric’s hands wandering over his hips and ass, but eventually he manages to jam it into the slot until the light flashes green.

He pulls Eric inside, and as soon as the door’s closed, Eric starts unbuttoning Kent’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as Kent kisses Eric, pushing him towards the bed. Eric gets Kent shirtless as Kent sits down on the bed, and Eric pauses, raking his eyes over Kent’s torso.

“Like what you see?” Kent says, knowing he sounds like _such_ a fucking tool.

“I’ve seen worse,” Eric says with a shrug, like Kent can’t see how into this he is. “Seen better too, but - “

Kent cuts him off by pulling him down, so that Eric’s straddling Kent while they kiss. Kent pulls back and tugs Eric’s shirt off, then pulls him back in so they’re chest to chest, one of Kent’s hands gripping Eric’s thigh, the other splayed across the warm skin of his back.

Kent’s into this, he’s so fucking into this, but he’s also into this involving way less clothing, so he slides his hand up Eric’s thigh, skimming it over the outline of his cock through his jeans, then goes for the button of Eric’s jeans, but Eric reaches a hand down and stops him.

Kent pulls back. “What?”

“I.” Eric pauses and looks down, his confidence and pushiness faded considerably. Eric runs his tongue along his lip, and Kent watches the action, waiting for Eric to spit out whatever he’s got to say so they can get on with the nudity. “I haven’t actually done this before,” Eric finally admits.

“Done what?” Kent asks, absent-mindedly running his hand up and down Eric’s thigh.

Eric bites his lip. “I’ve never actually, um, had sex.”

“Oh!” Kent says, feeling how stupidly wide his eyes go. He tries to get them back to normal, does his best to position his mouth back into its smirk. Obviously he wasn’t expecting this, but he can work with it. Hell, he’s got a great fucking opportunity here - he’s going to _blow Eric’s mind_. He leans back in, kisses Eric slow and smooth and dirty until Eric’s back to making those ridiculous little breathy noises, and then Kent pulls away. “I’ll make it good for you, babe.”

“What, you weren’t going to make it good for me before you knew that?”

Kent makes a face at him. “Sex with me is _always_ good.”

“Is it really,” Eric says, his voice hitching a little as Kent starts kissing down his jaw.

“You’ll be ruined for anyone else,” Kent promises before scraping his teeth along Eric’s collarbone. “But since that means you don’t know exactly how you like it yet, I’m going to need you to make it clear when something I do does or doesn’t work for you, yeah?”

“I babble when I’m nervous. I’m sure I’ll be an open book.”

Kent frowns, reaching up to cup Eric’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t be nervous, okay? I’ve got you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Eric nods. “I’m.” He pauses. “I _definitely_ want to, don’t you worry about that.”

“Just tell me if you need me to stop anything at any point and I will, okay?”

“I think I need you to stop talking and kiss me more.” Kent complies.

Kent’s trying to slow things down now - like, sure, virginity’s a flawed concept or whatever, and he’s probably never going to see Eric again, but he’s still determined to set the bar for all of Eric’s future sexual partners _as high as possible._

But Eric isn’t exactly acting like he wants Kent to slow down - he’s grinding down on Kent’s dick and gasping up into his mouth, and it’s _stupidly_ hot when Eric rakes his nails down Kent’s back, and then Eric climbs off of his lap and shucks his pants off, dragging down his boxers with them, and how is Kent supposed to go slow in the face of that kind of pressure? Honestly.

Kent takes a moment to just _look,_ admiring Eric’s body, smooth and small, his musculature different than that of most hockey types but still defined and fucking gorgeous. Kent’s about to ask if he can suck Eric’s dick - it’s a nice dick, and Kent gives great head, so it’s a sound strategy for Operation: Blow Eric’s Fucking Mind - when Eric throws himself down on the bed, face first, and then Kent’s got an eyeful of his _ass._

Kent drops a kiss on Eric’s ankle, since that’s the closest part of him, then another one on his calf, working his way up. Eric twitches when Kent kisses the back of one knee, and Kent has to resist the urge to tickle him. “God, you look good,” Kent breathes out against the back of Eric’s thigh. In response, Eric just spreads his legs in invitation, but Kent’s still at least _trying_ to take this slowly, so he doesn’t do more than run a hand over Eric’s ass before kissing one hip, then the other, then the small of Eric’s back, higher and higher until he’s kneeling between Eric’s spread legs, kissing the nape of Eric’s neck, ghosting a hand down Eric’s side, letting it rest on Eric’s hip. Eric pushes against the hand, shifts until Kent’s cupping his ass instead, and Kent’s totally able to take a hint.

But on the other hand, he’s also not that into not being able to see Eric’s face while Kent gropes him shamelessly, so Kent crawls off of Eric.

“That was nice, though,” Eric whines as Kent gets off of him. Kent grabs at his shoulders, flips him over so Kent can kiss him again, and then gets a hand on Eric’s dick, and Eric’s certainly not whining anymore.

Well, the noises he’s making against Kent’s mouth could probably be classified as whines. But he’s certainly not _complaining._

Kent’s barely even touching Eric, just running his fingers along Eric’s length, but with the noises Eric’s making you’d think he was getting the handjob of his fucking life, and Kent’s uncomfortably hard in his jeans, but his dick is _not_ the priority here, so he ignores it, keeping his focus on Eric.

Eric keeps running his hands down Kent’s back, along his sides, down his arms - it feels like he’s touching Kent everywhere, grasping at him while he makes those needy little noises, pushing his hips up to try to get more from Kent, and then he sighs and moves one of his hands off of Kent’s shoulders and down to wrap around Kent’s, so that Kent has to work his cock harder. Eric’s grip is gentle, but he’s got control over both of their hands, getting Kent into a rhythm Eric’s clearly super into.

And then Eric stills their hands, and Kent freezes. “You okay?” he asks.

Eric nods, looking up at Kent with his face flushed and mouth swollen, and he looks - he looks so fucking _wrecked_ , and Kent tells him so. Eric looks up at him, eyes wide and face full of something like _wonder,_ which is the most ridiculous expression anyone’s ever had while looking at Kent, and then Eric’s saying something but Kent’s too caught up in staring at the way Eric’s mouth moves, and he completely misses it.

“Kent,” Eric says, drawing Kent out of his reverie.

“Sorry,” Kent says, kissing Eric again in apology. “What did you say?”

“You could, um, wreck me more,” Eric repeats, and Kent doesn’t even know what that fucking means but it’s the hottest damn thing Kent’s ever heard.

“Yeah, fuck, whatever you want,” Kent says. “Got any ideas?”

“Just.” Eric takes a deep breath, then takes the hand he’s still holding and guides it down, and the way Eric sucks in a breath when Kent’s thumb skates over his hole makes it clear exactly what ideas he has.

Kent kisses Eric again, tells him how well he’s doing, then rolls off of Eric so he can reach into his bag, digging around until he finds the bottle of lube tucked into a pair of his socks.

He flicks the cap off and makes eye contact with Eric while he squirts some onto his fingers. Eric watches, open-mouthed, and pulls his legs up so that his knees are bent and his thighs are spread and it’s all too easy for Kent to kneel between them, bracing himself over Eric with his left arm, and then there’s nothing to do but slide a finger in.

“This okay?” Kent asks, hesitant as he watches his finger slip in, then slide out slowly, then repeat the motion, gentle - he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be a virgin, okay, and he doesn’t want to move too fast.

Eric laughs. “Lord, Kent, you’d think I’d never had a finger in me before.”

Kent pauses. “Well, I mean, you said you’d never - “

Eric cuts him off by holding up a hand and wiggling his own fingers, and - well, yeah, okay, that makes sense, Kent supposes.

“Mind if I go for two?” he asks, and Eric nods, so Kent slips a second finger in, watching Eric open around him. Eric’s breath hitches as Kent sinks in to his second knuckle, then all the way. “God,” Kent says, breath catching in his throat. “You look so good, Eric, _god._ ”

“Yeah?” Eric chokes out, voice strained and pitched high and desperate. He runs a hand down the side of Kent’s face, stroking a thumb over Kent’s cheekbone, then over Kent’s lower lip. “Tell me.”

Kent sucks in a breath and moves his free hand from the mattress to the back of Eric’s thigh, so Kent has a better view as his fingers slip in and out. “Jesus, Eric, you’re doing so well, you’re just - you’re taking this so well, and it’s just two fingers but you’re going to look so good on my cock after this, _fuck._ You’re incredible, you’re so - can I add a third?” Eric makes a noise of encouragement, so Kent grabs the bottle of lube, pulling his fingers out so he can get them slicked up better.

The noise Eric makes when Kent slides the three fingers in is fucking _incredible._ “God,” Kent breathes. “You’re doing so well, babe, you look fucking beautiful like this, all spread open and just, _jesus,_ I can’t believe nobody’s gotten to see how good you look like this until now - you’re so hot, I’m so lucky, you’re.” Kent’s getting overwhelmed, so he stops talking for a second, taking the opportunity to plant a kiss on the back of Eric’s thigh while Eric’s hand tangles in his hair, and the skin there feels fucking incredible against Kent’s mouth and he decides he might as well mark Eric up a little while he’s here, while he can, so he sucks hard, and -

Eric’s hand tightens in Kent’s hair, and Kent looks up just in time to see Eric come, just from Kent’s _fingers_ , and Kent’s in _awe_. “Jesus, Eric, yeah, come for me, oh my god,” he says, keeping his fingers going as Eric comes all over himself, and Kent knows he’s good with his hands but he’s never made somebody come so hard so fast, let alone with just a few _fingers_ , and it’s so fucking hot.

Kent feels Eric go slack, so he slides his hand out, and Eric makes a noise that sounds like it could be either protest or relief. “You good?” Kent asks, wiping the lube off of his hand onto the blankets and climbing over Eric.

Eric just looks up at him, pupils blown, and nods. “I’m so good,” he drawls, and Kent grins and kisses him. Eric doesn’t kiss him back much, too loose and relaxed, but Kent’s not exactly complaining, seeing as he’s the one who _got_ Eric to that point.

Eric just smiles up against Kent’s mouth, letting Kent kiss him sloppy and slow - there’s less intent, now that Eric’s gotten off. Sure, Kent’s still hard as hell, but he can be patient - this isn’t about him, and from what he’s seen of Eric, he’ll give as good as he got as soon as he can move again.

It doesn’t take long - they’re making out slow and easy for maybe five minutes before Eric pushes at Kent’s shoulders, insistent again. Kent lets Eric roll them over, lets Eric climb onto his hips and take control of the kiss, keeping Kent pushed down against the bed.

“I wanna suck you off,” Eric murmurs against Kent’s mouth, and like _hell_ Kent’s going to say no to that.

“Yeah, jesus, yeah,” he says as Eric climbs off of him and slides to his knees on the floor, raising his eyebrows once he’s there.

Kent slides to the edge of the bed, plants his feet on the floor, and then Eric’s unbuttoning Kent’s jeans. Kent lifts his hips so that Eric can slide them off, and then Eric’s just looking at him, determined, and Kent remembers that Eric’s _never done this before_ and - look, it shouldn’t turn him on that he’s the first person who’s gotten to see Eric like this, naked and determined and looking at the bulge in Kent’s boxer briefs with a little smile on his face, but it does.

Kent’s about to ask if Eric’s just there to look, but then Eric leans down and fucking mouths at Kent’s dick _through the fabric,_ and it’s dumb that that’s so hot, but Kent can’t help but swear and get a hand in Eric’s hair - not to push him down or something, he’s not the type of asshole to do that without advance permission, but he needs _somewhere_ to put his hands for now.

Eric just mouths at him for a moment, like he’s getting a feel for Kent’s cock before he takes it any further, and Kent’s fine with that, though he’s honestly so turned on he might end up blowing his load in his underwear, and that’d just be embarrassing as hell.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to worry about that long - Eric slides his hands up Kent’s thighs, smooth and sure, and then he’s tugging Kent’s boxer briefs off and he’s got a hand on Kent’s cock and it’s _glorious._ Like, sure, his grip’s a little awkward, and he’s only using one hand, but it’s still a hand on Kent’s dick, and then it’s a hand and a mouth on Kent’s dick, and that combination is a classic for a reason.

He leans back, resting his hands on the mattress behind him so that Eric can go for it without the pressure of Kent’s hand on his head.

And _god,_ whatever Eric lacks in experience, he sure as hell makes up for in enthusiasm, even if he tries to take more than he can a few times and ends up gagging a little. “God, look at you,” Kent chokes out. “You look so good, oh my god.” Eric hums in response, so Kent just keeps talking. “Twist your wrist a little more - yeah, god, like that, fuck. Oh, jeez, you’re a fucking natural at this, you’re so - fuck, yeah.” Eric’s getting into a rhythm now, and it’s good, it’s so good. And maybe he’s too into it already, but watching Eric fall apart earlier really _got_ to Kent, and so if he’s now way closer to coming than he should be, it’s only because he gets off on getting _others_ off.

Eric’s getting the hang of it now, listening to Kent’s comments, adjusting his technique as needed, doing _something_ with his tongue that’s really doing it for Kent. Kent grips the blankets, trying to think of things to stave off his orgasm but not able to focus on anything other than how good it feels, how fucking good Eric _looks._ “Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to be so good at this, fucking - you’re so good, Eric, you’re so fucking good, _god,_ you look good on my cock, I’m gonna - _Eric,_ I’m close, you should -” Kent gets a hand on Eric’s head again so he can push him back, let Eric finish him with his hand, but Eric keeps going. “Eric, I’m gonna come if you keep that up, I’m -” Eric just hums again, sounding pleased, and that’s it, Kent’s done, he’s coming and Eric gags a little but keeps sucking, and Kent sees fucking _stars._

Kent takes a few deep breaths, slowly comes back to himself, and he looks down at Eric. Eric looks up at him, grins, and uses the back of his hand to wipe a little bit of Kent’s come off his chin, and it’s hot as fuck but Kent’s way too spent to appreciate it at the moment.

He reaches down, tugs on Eric’s arm until Eric’s standing, and then he flops back onto the bed, Eric settling down next to him. And the world is all warm and golden and post-orgasm hazy, so Kent just rolls over and nuzzles into Eric’s neck, slinging an arm over his waist and wondering if Eric will notice if he just...falls asleep.

But he’s also fucking _hungry,_ so he grumbles as much to Eric, who laughs. “Don’t you fancy NHL types get room service?”

Kent looks up at Eric. “You’re a fucking genius. I could kiss you,” he says.

“You can kiss me,” Eric points out, and then Kent gets distracted from the idea of food by Eric’s mouth on his, all gentle and without any intent or heat behind it. It’s nice, so Kent just kisses him for a moment. But Kent still wants food, so he makes himself pull back and find the room service menu on the nightstand.

Everything on it’s fucking overpriced as hell, but it all sounds delicious, and Kent’s considering just saying fuck it and ordering everything. Eric’s reading over his shoulder, occasionally kissing the sides of Kent’s neck, and it’s nice - just lazy and intimate and relaxed.

“Eggs,” Eric declares after a moment. “Let’s do omelettes.”

Kent makes a face at him. “Or we could _not_ be boring, and we could get cheesecake.”

“Is cheesecake in your diet plan, Mr. Parson?” Eric teases. Kent just elbows him and rolls over, reaching for the phone on the nightstand. He orders himself two slices of cheesecake, and an omelette for Eric, then hangs up the phone and rolls back onto Eric, who groans at Kent’s weight on him and pushes him off, so that Kent’s just tucked against his side. Kent bites at his shoulder, more playful than sexual, and Eric just shakes his head affectionately, scratching Kent’s scalp gently.

Kent relaxes against Eric, content to just lay there and trace his fingers along Eric’s side. Eric twitches when Kent’s hand ghosts over his waist, and Kent remembers the way he’d twitched earlier when Kent had kissed his knee, which means one thing: Eric is _ticklish._

And Kent can’t resist tapping a few fingers right on that spot on Eric’s waist, which gets him a supressed giggle, so he tickles it more deliberately, and Eric smacks his hand away. “You’re playing a dangerous game here,” Eric says. Kent just looks him right in the eye and tickles him again. “It’s _on_ ,” Eric declares, and then Eric’s armed with a pillow, using it to smack Kent away every time he gets close enough to tickle, and it’s dumb as hell but it’s fun, Eric hitting Kent in the head repeatedly while Kent latches on to Eric’s leg and tickles him until he collapses on top of Kent, and then the tickling’s forgotten, because Eric’s kissing Kent again and Kent’s content to just kiss him back.

They’re making out slow and easy on the floor when there’s a knock on the door, and Kent opens it just far enough to grab the boxes, thanks the guy for their food, and then settles on the bed next to Eric, knees touching while they eat.

Predictably enough, Eric ends up eating like half of Kent’s cheesecake, which Kent totally saw coming and isn’t really bothered by. “Good, huh?” Kent says around a bite of it.

Eric shrugs. “I’ve had better. I’ve _made_ better.”

“Didn’t realize I was fucking a cheesecake pro,” Kent says.

“Well, you haven’t actually fucked me,” Eric points out, “and I tend towards pie, but.”

“Yeah, well, I will.”

“You’d better,” Eric replies, shooting Kent a grin and taking another bite of the cheesecake.

They just hang out for a while, eating their food, talking about hockey and life and pie of all things, occasionally making out, and it’s relaxed and intimate and just damn _nice._

It gets better than nice, though, when they’re making out later on and Kent feels Eric getting hard again against Kent’s thigh. Kent’s still not really there, but it’s been almost an hour and that’s usually enough for him, so he does his best to put some intent into his kissing again, getting a good grip on Eric’s hip, then moving his hand to Eric’s ass. Eric nods at that, makes a noise into Kent’s mouth, so Kent climbs off of him.

The lube isn’t on the nightstand anymore. Kent groans. “Did you see where the lube ended up?” he asks Eric. Eric groans and gets up, lifting the covers to check under them, then getting on his knees and looking under the bed.

If Kent spends less time looking for the lube and more time looking at Eric’s ass, well, no one can blame him - it’s a great ass.

“Got it!” Eric declares, voice muffled from his head being under the bed frame. He shimmies out, then holds the bottle up triumphantly before tossing it to Kent, who catches it. Eric gets back on the bed, reclining on his elbows and spreading his legs like before.

Kent grabs a condom out of his bag and sets it on the nightstand so that he doesn’t have to fumble for one later, and then gets to work, kissing up the insides of Eric’s thighs, biting gently at the skin there. He pauses to lube up his fingers, two sliding in easily, Eric gasping, and then he gets his mouth on Eric’s cock, because he’s still not ready to fuck Eric, but he doesn’t need to be hard to give Eric the blowjob of his _life._

Kent’s good at this - crooking his fingers, keeping his free hand on the base of Eric’s cock while he works his mouth down onto it, and Kent doesn’t hold back. He uses all the dirty tricks he’s learned, tonguing right under the head, working his hand just right, and it’s not long before he’s got four fingers in Eric’s ass while Eric practically _sobs,_ and - yeah, okay, Kent’s hard now.

He stills his fingers and pulls off Eric’s dick, deliberately letting a bit of saliva connect his mouth to the head of Eric’s cock, and Eric looks down at him like he’s never seen anything better.

(Which - Kent’s fucking hot, Eric probably _hasn’t._ )

Kent grins up at him. “Can I fuck you now?” he asks, and Eric nods so hard Kent’s afraid he’ll get whiplash.

Kent crawls up over Eric, kisses him hard, and reaches for the condom on the nightstand. He keeps eye contact with Eric while he rolls it on and squirts lube into his hand, making sure there’s more than enough to coat his cock, and he slicks up and then just leans over Eric. “You’ll tell me what’s good for you, right?” he asks. Eric nods again, and Kent kisses him, reaching a hand down to get one of Eric’s legs onto Kent’s shoulder, and then Kent’s lining himself up and pushing into Eric, as slowly as he can manage, Eric gasping up into his mouth. And _fuck_ \- he’s tight and fucking gorgeous, so Kent tells him that, and Eric just makes a noise.

_“God,”_ Kent hisses, biting down on the edge of Eric’s jaw while Eric grips his back, nails just shy of painful. Kent slides out just a little bit, then back in, still so slow. “God, Eric, can I -”

“Please,” Eric breathes. “ _Lord,_ Kent, I can take it, just _fuck me.”_

“Well,” Kent says, trying to keep his voice even as he pulls out most of the way, “since you asked so nicely.” He fucks into Eric, still not as hard as he _could,_ but he’s pretty sure if he fucked Eric as hard as he could he’d embarrass himself by coming in, like, two minutes, so he holds back, drives his hips into Eric just hard enough to keep Eric gasping, and then Eric starts _talking._

_“Lord_ , I cannot believe I’ve been - _fuck!_ \- missing out on this for _nineteen_ years, oh my _god_ , I could’ve had you inside of me a _year_ ago, I - _lord,_ Kent.”

Kent grins down at him, runs a hand along Eric’s torso and then pulls his other leg up over Kent’s shoulders, so that Kent can fuck him deeper, and Eric’s eyes go wide and he keeps talking, though it’s practically nonsense at this point - just a mix of Kent’s name and a stream of profanity.

“Fuck,” Kent mutters, running his hands up and down Eric’s thighs as he fucks him. “You good, babe? You _look_ good, god, so fucking good for me, jesus.”

Eric half-smiles up at him. “Kent, I am - ah! - I’m so good.”

Kent turns his head and kisses Eric’s leg.

“But,” Eric starts, and Kent slows down immediately, because he’s damn well going to respect Eric’s needs.

“Yeah?”

Eric might turn a little redder, but his face is so flushed anyway that Kent can’t tell for sure. “You know you can fuck me harder, right? I can take it.”

And fuck if Eric drawling out that he _can take it_ isn’t enough to _shatter_ Kent - he’s so turned on, and Eric is putty in his hands, and when Kent pulls back and slams into Eric, he gets a whimper and a nod for his troubles, so he does it again and again, fucking loses himself in Eric, folds him in half and looks Eric in the eye and just _fucks him._

Eric clutches at his back, his shoulders, everywhere, nodding and cursing, occasionally trying to kiss Kent until they just end up breathing against each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together, and then Eric’s choking out that he’s _so close, Kent, so close,_ and so Kent manages to get a hand between them and jerk Eric off, and once Eric’s slack and panting under him, Kent only needs a few more hard thrusts, and then he’s coming too, until his limbs feel like jelly and he’s breathing hard and all he can do is collapse right on top of Eric, who groans and pushes him off.

“Thank you,” Eric finally says, voice all rough. Kent kisses his shoulder, then grits his teeth and forces himself to get up to throw away the condom and grab some tissues or a washcloth or something for Eric.

He splashes some water on his face while he’s in the bathroom, fills one of the little plastic cups and downs it, and then grabs a washcloth off the pile of towels and wets it with warm water before heading back out into the main room.

Eric’s sprawled out on the bed, and he smiles up at Kent softly while Kent gently wipes up the come on Eric’s abdomen. Once Eric’s clean, Kent throws the cloth on the floor and drops down next to Eric, barely putting in the effort to get any of the blankets over them.

He feels Eric kiss the top of his head, so he presses himself flush against Eric’s side. “Told you I’d blow your mind,” he mutters, words muffled by Eric’s shoulder.

He falls asleep to the sound of Eric laughing.

  


 

And if they fuck again the next morning, Eric riding him until Kent’s so turned on he thinks he’s going to cry, well - 

That’s nobody’s business but their own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> is this the filthiest thing i've ever written? you bet.


End file.
